Wither Works
by Nights of Fire
Summary: The thing about dying and being reincarnated is that you get a lot of time to just sit down and think, meaning one, I've gotten over my depression from, ya know, dying and two, I've realized a lot of things, like how reincarnation makes no fucking sense and how much of a pain in the ass it is.
1. Chapter 1

Wither Works - Chapter 1 - Ages Ago

 _"...call the police..."_

 _"...missing child..."_

 _"...help..."_

 _"...hostages..."_

 _"...I was so scared..."_

 _"...devastating..."_

" _C'mon!_ " I blinked tiredly as I broke out of my trance. Sending one last lingering look at the news anchor on the screen, I forced my eyes to land on my older brother's figure. Without even sparing a glance at me, he was already heading out the door, shouting at me to hurry up without even waiting.

I huffed, frustration threatening to lash out from my brother's new rebellious phase. Nonetheless, I bounced off the couch and began grabbing all the stuff I would never leave home without while being careful not to block my dad's view as the television enslaved his attention as it previously did mine. My mom walked through the small hallway with my little brother whimpering in her arms as I stuffed everything I was holding into my backpack.

" _...no survivors…_ "

I shot the TV another look and paused. " _Hey, mom..._ " I mumbled hesitantly, shooting an uneasy look towards the woman. "Do you think… maybe… something bad will happen soon?"

Of course, she wasn't paying attention. My mom was busy trying to care for the infant in her arms. It didn't bother me much. As a third child, my parents were already old when I was born and their senses were only getting wearier. I shrugged it off and headed out. My older brother didn't like waiting after all.

* * *

A classroom that usually beamed with energy was silenced by a noise ripping through the air like a strike of lightning; in a city where the sun shined yearly, we knew otherwise. For people like us, explosion weren't exactly uncommon: annoying firecrackers, monthly car crash, the occasional gunshots...

It didn't exactly click for that one student as he voiced his confusion which was answered with a joke as if to ease the mood, pretend it was just our imagination, as if it didn't really happen. But it did.

The school's P.A. system - the one that was supposed to be used only for the daily greetings and announcements - told us that we were under a lockdown and no, this wasn't a drill.

I think all of our hearts stopped beating when the sound of another gunshot rang in our ears. That's when the comprehension snapped us out of our blank states of denial and hopeful wishes as the panic crawled in.

Some ran around the room like a headless chicken, searching for some sort escape as the teacher uncertainty tried to control the situation; others scrambled to find a hiding spot, even desperately crawling under their desk; and the rest froze like statues, denial still racking at their minds.

The tensions were thick as bullets flew from what seemed like mere meters away and ohgodwereabouttodi-

The familiar ring of police sirens blared from outside and there the shots stopped. We all let out a breath of relief.

Less than 100 students were killed. Some of the people I've known for years were killed. I tried my best to attend each and every one of their funerals and I didn't shed a single tear.

* * *

"When was the last time you saw him?" The officer questioned, notepad and pencil in hand.

I patted Mom's back as she quietly sobbed.

Dad solemnly answered, "One month ago."

The officer nodded as he scribbled down some more notes before flipping the notepad back to the cover and slipping it away into his pocket. "Sir," he started, placing a hand on my dad's shoulder. "We'll do our best to find your son. For now, be patient."

I felt the hand in my left tighten. I looked down at my little brother. "It's gonna' be okay," I whispered reassuringly. He looked as if he didn't believe it. Hell, even _I_ didn't believe it.

In the end, we never saw our older brother again.

* * *

 _"There was an accident on the highway and I'm sorry to say that your parents didn't make it."_

* * *

 _"There were complications and well… your sister had a miscarriage."_

* * *

 _"DON'T LOOK! AND CALL 911!"_ I shrieked, shoving my brother out of the room, away from our sister's unmoving body and bottle of pills next to it.

* * *

"Can I stop _now_?" My brother whined, he placing yet another moving box down in our new apartment.

I bit my lip as I checked the time on my phone. "Yeah, sure. It's almost dinner time anyway." The kid's face lit up at the idea of food. "But I have to make it first." His shoulders visually drooped at the thought of waiting, making me chuckle as I searched the fridge, the one thing that we decided to fill first.

"I-I could help you cook," my brother offered. "Maybe… with, like, cutting stuff?"

That's weird. He doesn't usually want to help and besides, " _Can I trust you with a knife?_ " I asked, raising an eyebrow.

He gasped playfully, pretending to be offended. " _How dare- I would never_." He gripped the place over his heart as a fake flash of pain slipped onto his face. "My own _sister_ … not believing in me." He wiped a stray tear away.

I snorted. "Alright, alright. Stop the act." I admit the kid could make it big if he chooses to go in the entertainment business. I gestured to one of the drawers. "The knives are in there. Remember to wash it before and after using."

"Yes, ma'am."

* * *

" _I-I'm sorry. I h-had to. They told me...They told me I need to...I am so sorry. Sorry. Sorry. God, I am so sorry_." The sound of my brother's apologies and excuses become muffled as everything spun round _androundandIcantfocusonanythingelsebuttheknifeinmybackandthepuddleofbloodImlyinginandforthefirsttimeinmylife_ -

I don't know what to do.

I spent _years_ making plan after plan for this family. Years of blood, sweat, and tears just trying to find a safe place for me. For us. All for nothing!

All my hard work wasted… because I'm dying.

 _… die? … die? I'm… going… to… die...?_

 _die… die… die… die… die… die… die… die… die… die… die… die… die… die… die… die… die… die… die… die… die… die… die… die… die… die… die… die… die… die… die… die… die… die… die… die… die… die… die… die… die… die… die… die… die…_

 _I'm… died?_

* * *

 **A/N: Warning, REALLY slow updates**


	2. Unreasonable

**Happy Thansgiving!**

 **Thank you to** ImpossibleGirl96 **,** haha memes **,** skyjadeprincess **,** Pol Monte Blanc **,** eagle0108 **,** kyrie **,** moon-night-ninja **,** woes **,** Eterna the water phoenix **, and all you glorious anonymous people who took a chance and read this story. It really means alot to me.**

 **To** Eterna the water phoenix **:** **I didn't but I've should've used that instead. Good eye and have a nice day too.**

 **To anon** pfft **:** **No, she will not be reincarnated as Cedric but if someone made that I would've read it. Tbh, I usually hate death scenes at the start too because most of the time it has no relevance to the story. Originally, the first chapter was supposed to be about the MC's personality but I kept revising that chapter over and over again until the intent changed.**

 **To** eagle0180 **:** **Thanks for the motivation boost!y**

 **Now for the chapter. Hope y'all enjoy!**

* * *

 **Wither Works - Chapter 2 - Unreasonable**

* * *

So basically, life's a bitch. _Both_ of them.

The thing about dying and being reincarnated is that you get a lot of time to just sit down and think, meaning one, I've gotten over my depression from, ya know, _dying_ and two, I've realized a lot of things, like how _reincarnation makes no fucking sense_ and how much of a _pain in the ass_ it is.

Correction: being reincarnated _with my fucking memories_ doesn't make sense.

Okay, yeah, memories aren't physical and yeah, _some idiots_ might think that they're a spiritual thing so _of course_ it makes sense that it would travel along with my soul and to that, I'll say _fuck off_ to them.

I see where they're coming from and everything but seriously, _shut the fuck up_. Instead of making assumptions or believing something you've hear or read, ask yourself those questions and actually fucking research it. We have Google for a reason (or will have. It hasn't been invented yet).

But, hey, what kind of narrator would I be if I didn't explain shit like this?

Memories are like radices and numeral systems. In mathematical numeral systems, a radix is the number of unique symbols that can be used to represent numbers in a positional numeral system. A numeral system is a writing system that expresses numbers with mathematical notations that uses radices, or symbols, in a consistent manner.

If you didn't understand any of that-and let's face it, most don't-then think of a binary system. Binary uses black and white square, or zeros and ones, to write instructions for computers… or laptops… or smartphones… or whatever you youngsters use. Binary is a numeral system and the 0 and 1 are the radices.

Let's say that neurons, cells in the brain, are the number system and the radices are whether there are electric signals going through the neurons or not. Like how the order of zeros and ones represent a certain number, the electrical signals represent a certain memory.

I admit, like everything I do, that explanation was half assed but as long as it gives an idea, it's fine.

You might be asking, _what's the problem? How exactly does having memories after reincarnation not make sense?_ Let me put it like this; imagine typing your phone's password into your friend's phone. Assuming you guys aren't losers that have the exact same password, it doesn't work.

I died and my body decayed along with my brain and neurons. Different brain should mean a different system. Logically, it shouldn't make sense.

Maybe I shouldn't think logically. Afterall, magic does exist.

Oh… right… did I mention magic exists? No? _Fucking magic_ exists.

Long story short, my second birth took place in England, 1977. The new parents either died or became incapable of taking care of me and I was sent to an orphanage before age 4. Don't ask about the first 3 years; those were the first stage of grief years.

One of the caretaker waved a polished stick while speaking gibberish and the next thing I know, it's glowing and stuff was floating.

I'm not afraid to admit I screamed and bursted into tears. Needless to say, my first reaction was bad and it only got worse.

Magic, yay! So cool and sparkly and so _fucking nonexistent_. I have two theories; there's either a secret society of magic using bastards that don't want to help the world with their oh-so convenient and useful spells (we could've cured cancer by now but no, it's not like we need you tuckers anyway) like in Harry Potter, or, maybe, just maybe, I ended up in another world…

There's a theory, you've probably heard about it already, called the multiverse. The idea of it suggest that with every choice you make, there's an identical world out there where you made the other choice and considering enough fanfics and light novels, it isn't exactly unimaginable that there are entire worlds where fiction is fact and fact is fiction… like the existence of magic is real here.

(If I'm in another world, then home is gone, and if home is gone, then I'm gone. Did _I_ even exist in the first place?)

I don't really like the whole other world idea so I'm just going to stick with the first one until proven otherwise and you can't do anything about it.

Oh, forgive my nonexistent manner. I haven't introduced myself yet.

Former woman in her in twenties, third sibling out of four, and engineer Ember Ngo to British three year old orphan in a magical society, let me introduce the new me as Wynter Wilkes.


End file.
